


The trappings and the suits of woe

by cyranonic



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst, Blood and Violence, Felix and Dimitri are bitter exes, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Pre-Canon, Secret Relationship, Trauma, it's Dimitri okay there is going to be upsetting mental health stuff, some depictions of horribly awkward teens discovering sexuality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-16
Updated: 2020-07-16
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:13:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25293748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cyranonic/pseuds/cyranonic
Summary: Felix hates it when Dimitri pretends to be fine. Dimitri lets the mask slip a little. Someone is bound to get hurt.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Felix Hugo Fraldarius
Comments: 56
Kudos: 305





	The trappings and the suits of woe

He is twelve years old when Glenn is engaged to be married.

“Married? To Ingrid?” Felix remembers scoffing. “You’re in love with Ingrid?”

“I like Ingrid,” Glenn corrects him. “I don’t love her yet, but I think I will one day. You’ll understand when you’re older.”

“I can understand now!” Felix insists petulantly. “I just think it’s gross.”

“Why is it gross? I thought Ingrid was your friend!”

“She is. But I wouldn’t marry her.”

Glenn sighs in his sarcastic way that lets Felix know he isn’t really angry. Glenn already has a reputation for a sharp tongue, but he is never cruel. Especially not to Felix.

“Alright then, who would you marry?”

Felix doesn’t like the question and draws his knees up to his chest. Perhaps he can suggest that they go climb trees in the woods and Glenn will forget.

“That’s why I said you’d understand when you’re older,” Glenn smirks. “You’re too young, like Ingrid. You can like people a lot, but once you get to be my age, then you can fall in love. Right now, Ingrid is too young to fall in love with, but eventually, we will fall in love with each other. The same might happen with a person you like right now.” 

“You think I’ll fall in love with someone I like?” Felix pretends to wretch to let Glenn know he is truly offended.

“That’s right,” Glenn says and pulls him into an involuntary hug that Felix slowly relaxes into. “One day even my hard-hearted little brother will fall in love and get married.”

“I guess I’ll marry Dimitri, then,” Felix announces and, for the first time in a long time, shocks Glenn into silence.

For a moment, Felix thinks he has said something wrong, something terrible. Tears start to prick in his eyes. Felix never could stop his tears. But then Glenn takes his hand and smiles so that his eyes crinkle at the corners.

“Maybe you will,” he whispers, like it’s a secret, a fun secret, their secret. “If you like him the best of all.”

He is thirteen when Glenn dies.

His father breaks the news in such a terrible way that Felix will never again trust him, never again believe in the ideals his father taught him, never again be fooled by the lies of knighthood and chivalry.

For a week, Felix hides in his room and sobs to sleep every night, but it doesn’t help. Glenn does not appear. All he has to console him is that Dimitri is alive. Dimitri survived, against all odds.

They go to Fhirdiad for the funeral of the king and Felix catches his first glimpse of the prince in many months. He is taller, getting a bit gangly. And it is impossible not to notice that he is still bandaged where burns are healing on his arms and legs.

His expression is distant, like his eyes aren’t really seeing anything around him. Felix had expected him to be crying. But he isn’t. He isn’t really there at all. He is wearing a mask.

Felix has resolved not to cry anymore and, when he arrives at Fhirdiad, it seems to be working. His father takes him to the palace and when he sees Dimitri standing beside his uncle, Felix manages to fight back the urge to sob. They greet each other formally, Dimitri’s bow stiffer than normal as the bandages shift beneath his clothes.

“Perhaps these bosom companions can play in the garden while we old men talk politics,” Dimitri’s uncle says, his voice all fake-jovial and condescending in the way of adults unused to children. 

Dimitri nods silently and guards escort them out into a cold courtyard where they can walk under distant supervision.

“I must apologize to you,” Dimitri says, his eyes fixed on the path in front of them. “I have taken a brother from you. I know that I can never atone.”

“What are you talking about?” Felix asks harshly. “You didn’t--“

“Glenn died to save my life,” Dimitri continues and Felix realizes he is reciting something. He must have memorized a speech he intended to say when they met. “I beg your forgiveness, but I can do nothing but wish it were not so. Whatever pledge I can make to you, I will, but I am conscious it will never repay my debt.”

“Stop it!” Felix snaps. “Stop acting like… why are you being like this? It’s me, Dimitri! You don’t have to pretend!”

Dimitri looks up at him finally and Felix sees his mask waver and crack. The vacant look on his face folds inward, becoming a crushing look of pain.

“I don’t know what else to say,” he manages to squeak out before his voice breaks. “They want me to… to give a speech at the funeral… and I don’t know what to say…”

Felix has never been good with words. Glenn was the one who could turn a phrase while Felix just got overwhelmed and dissolved into tears and it usually took hours before anyone could find out why.

So Felix just folds Dimitri into his arms and lets him cry into his shoulder. They are ugly, shuddering sobs and gasps, but Felix doesn’t mind.

He believes naïvely that Dimitri has let him in, that the pretending is over, that there will be no more lies.

At the funeral, Dimitri does give a short speech. It is succinct, thanking the knights who protected him, pledging to avenge his family, promising to follow his regent’s commands so that he might grow into a fitting king for Faerghus. The words are received well by the shaken nobility, thirsting after something stable in a troubled time.

Felix watches his father shed tears for King Lambert and hates him for crying more over a king than he ever did for Glenn. Felix will only realize approximately nine years later that his father doubtless hid his grieving from Felix while they were concealed in the Fraldarius estates.

When the ceremony is over, they are given rooms in the palace to stay in before they make the journey back. Felix’s father has told him they will likely stay a few months to ensure that all goes smoothly when Rufus is named Lord Regent.

That night, Felix finds Dimitri in his usual spot, curled up in a window-seat overlooking the city. The room is a little-used parlor, the furniture covered by cloths until the king decides to receive guests in it. They are alone, briefly, unwatched, remarkably. In Fhirdiad, someone is almost always watching.

“How did I sound?” Dimitri asks as he notices Felix join him. His long legs are braced against the window ledge and Felix suddenly notices how the anxious expression has changed his face. He doesn’t look soft anymore. Felix can see the bones of his jaw better. His blonde hair is still long, but it is no longer possible to confuse him with a young maiden as Lady Cassandra Charon so infamously once did.

“What do you mean?” Felix does not understand the question.

“The speech, was it alright?”

Dimitri looks like he might cry again if Felix says no.

“It was fine,” Felix says, not sure why Dimitri needs to hear this so badly. Words will not fix what has been broken. Nothing will. The only thing left to do is move forward.

The sun has already set and Dimitri is looking out over the city lights that flicker like reflections of the stars in a great lake. Felix watches him school his face back to calm in the silence, clearly struggling, but eventually succeeding.

“I don’t understand why you’re like this,” Felix finally whispers and comes to sit beside him at the window seat. “Why are you pretending not to be upset? Why is everyone pretending not to be upset? Acting like this is noble or heroic or good?”

He asks the question with anger shaking his voice, but he means it. He doesn’t understand.

Dimitri looks up with that dull expression on his face and speaks in his formal, flat voice. It’s creepy, Felix thinks. He hates this mask and he will prod and test Dimitri until he drops it again.

“I have to behave properly, without excessive grief, if I am to do my duty.”

“Foolish.”

“You might think it so.”

“Would you scorn my grief? Would you call it _excessive_ if I wept? My brother is dead, Dimitri. He’s gone,” Felix takes a deep breath, but his eyes are dry. The urge for tears has finally left him. All he can feel now is a dull hatred.

But his sharp words work again. Dimitri’s composure starts to crack.

“Of course not,” he says and draws into himself. “But you are not… you still have your father.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

"Felix,” Dimitri says and his voice becomes a moan. He squeezes his eyes shut and presses his palms against them. “I can’t… if people saw me like this… my uncle wants to remain regent and if I am thought unfit to… to lead… he will…”

His voice falters and he goes silent. Felix finally understands. He has been tutored in Kingdom history, recalls that a few of Dimitri’s ancestors have been disinherited for a tint of madness. Probably a few of his own have been as well.

The hatred that has been festering for the world that raised him flares hot in his chest. He wants to leave it all behind, run away and live in the woods, but he won’t leave Dimitri like this.

“Okay,” Felix says and leans his shoulder into Dimitri’s to assure him without speaking that all is forgiven. “But never with me, Dimitri, please don’t pretend with me.”

“You wouldn’t prefer to have me back as I was?”

Of course I would, Felix thinks. I would prefer everything back as it was.

“I want you, however you are. The real you,” Felix leans closer, trying to show Dimitri what he means with the touch of hands and the tangle of their legs on the window seat. Both of them have grown so much, they hardly fit anymore.

Dimitri looks up at him and Felix stares into his blue eyes, ringed red and tinted dull purple beneath. His nose has gotten red at the tip from the suppressed tears. And his lips as well.

Why has Felix never noticed how pink his lips are before? What was once comfortable and familiar has abruptly become strange. His heart pounds in his chest.

They have always been friends. This is an eternal constant. They have chased each other down the halls of this palace, around the grounds of the Fraldarius estate. They have played at battles with sticks, and when their knuckles were inevitably rapped with the wood, they have comforted each other.

And it is a comfort, Felix thinks, to have someone else who hasn’t blinded themselves to the truth. As much as he wants his friend to smile again, it is a relief that he isn’t right now.

“What if you don’t like the real me anymore?” Dimitri asks quietly.

“I do. I will.”

Promises are dangerous things. Some lies taste like truth on the tongue.

Something strange crosses over Dimitri’s face. An expression Felix has never seen before draws his brows and makes his eyes narrow. Something about this face is dangerous, reckless, provoking.

Dimitri leans forward and brushes his lips against Felix’s. He always struggled with delicate tasks, but right then, his touch is gentle. A question. Felix is too stunned to answer for a moment.

Then he leans forward and returns the kiss.

The person he likes best of all. It has only been a year, and Felix is already beginning to understand what Glenn said.

He is thirteen and a half when it is time to return to Fraldarius territory with his father.

Felix does not want to leave the capital, although his father seems eager to return home after what has clearly been a long and difficult session of court. Rufus has been named regent and soldiers have been sent to punish Duscur for its crimes.

Rodrigue Fraldarius looks weary beyond his years in the carriage home, but when Felix asks him why, he will not say. He lies and tells Felix that all will be well, that justice will be done, and that the Kingdom will be restored.

Felix does not want to leave Dimitri, especially not alone in such a dangerous place. In the past months, they have been inseparable. The servants and guards watch them constantly, but Felix obtains permission to sleep in the prince’s room.

Such a request is granted easily. The monarchs of Faerghus rarely sleep without attendants, and the palace servants have grown tired of Dimitri’s nightmares and constant waking. No one has reason to suspect that in between Dimitri’s disturbed sleep, Felix is lying at his side, pressing curious kisses to his lips again and again.

When they are separated, they write letters. Felix knows to be careful with his words and Dimitri writes him in riddles, knowing that the regent might easily intercept their correspondence as part of his duty to defend the throne.

Keeping it a secret is difficult for Felix. The Church of Seiros has never condemned marriages of two men or women explicitly and the scripture is silent on such a topic. There is a brief mention in the early histories of Saint Seiros about her condemnation of a disgusting practice of the ancient Empire involving older men and children, but that is clearly an exceptional incident.

But in the Kingdom, sons can lose their inheritance for failing to possess a Crest. In the Kingdom, the earth is infertile and the woods are cold and the borders are dangerous and so such precautions are needed. So they say.

Any relationship that threatens Dimitri’s ability to pass on the Blaidydd Crest to an heir will destabilize the realm. Rufus was the elder brother, after all. If he married and produced a son with the Crest he himself had failed to bear, what would become of his nephew?

So they keep it a secret. Felix does not write ‘I love you’ or ‘my dearest’ or ‘beloved’ in his letters, he only says ‘I hope you are well’ and ‘I wish to remain by your side’ and ‘your most loyal subject.’ And even if the letters are masked and obfuscating, they are important. 

At the very least, that is how Felix first learns about Dedue.

Dimitri writes to him about another boy he has taken into his service, a child of Duscur a few years older than he is, whose family perished in the purges. When Dimitri writes about Dedue, he sounds more like his true self. He is less polite, but more earnest.

He spills bottles of ink in passionate words about how the people of Duscur must not be blamed for the crimes of a few. He rails against his own powerlessness to stop it. He scribbles hundreds of incidents of cruelty he has seen Dedue face and he recounts how it sickens him.

Felix is glad that something has helped to jolt Dimitri out of his hollow, bottomless sadness, but he would be lying if he failed to admit a twist of jealousy in his gut. He wants to be back in Fhirdiad. The winter is long and cruel in Fraldarius territory and the snows will not let them ride.

But Dedue is there at Dimitri’s side, sleeping in the room with him, dressing him and helping him eat, training with him now that the burns have finally healed. And in Felix’s mind, Dedue grows increasingly tall and handsome and virtuous, while Felix struggles through awkward spurts of growth and oily skin and his chin’s absolute refusal to sprout a single hair.

When the snows melt, the Margrave Gautier comes to visit. He brings Sylvain with him and leaves Miklan at home with whatever family he has sent him off to be fostered with this time

Sylvain is also trying to pretend that everything is fine, but instead of playing the stoic knight, he is acting the part of a jester. He is a year older than Felix and he seems determined to demonstrate that, leering at any local girl who will glance his way.

Sylvain and Felix have also been friends for a long time. Sylvain has gotten Felix into more trouble than anyone else in the world, and usually had him laughing even as they took their punishment. They had sworn childish oaths to remain companions until they die, but now, suddenly, Sylvain seems to grate on him.

“Come on, Felix, just talk to her!” Sylvain begs, pointing out the pretty daughter of a well-off local merchant walking through the town around Fraldarius manor. “I’ve already laid the groundwork, told her all about your skill with the blade.”

“If you think my skills are impressive, why don’t you ever want to spar?” Felix mutters darkly. 

“I’m trying to help you expand your perspective,” Sylvain says with a grin. “There’s more to life than swords, right?”

The ways he says it helps Felix to realize that Sylvan is worried about him. They have barely spoken Glenn’s name since he arrived and Sylvain has watched Felix duck out of rooms as soon as his father enters them. But Felix cannot explain to him what is going on. He will not betray Dimitri’s trust.

“You go talk to her, then,” Felix says. “You’re the one who wants to, anyways. I’m going to check my snares in the woods.”

In the end, Sylvain follows him into the vast forests of the Fraldarius estate where Felix finds one of his traps has caught a rabbit. But Sylvain doesn’t watch when Felix wrings its neck. He flits off to pick wildflowers, claiming that girls like nothing better than a bouquet.

Sylvain knows nothing about being in love, Felix thinks

He is fourteen when he returns to Fhirdiad.

Dimitri greets them when they present themselves at the palace, carefully formal as always. He has grown even taller and his shoulders even wider. His face has lost the soft fat around his cheeks and now the bones of a young man emerge beneath his pale skin. Too thin, Felix worries immediately.

At his side is Dedue, and Felix is unnerved to see that Dedue is, in fact, tall and handsome, but there is something fierce and somber in his eyes that sets Felix’s heart at ease. That, and the tender smile that breaks through Dimitri’s polite guise when he first sees him. That helps a lot.

“Children are so resilient,” Rufus remarks with a forced laugh when Felix asks permission to be excused alongside the prince.

If you only knew, Felix thinks with a hard smile. 

For hours, they are forced to take tea in the presence of servants. Dimitri picks at his food randomly, like he cannot taste a bit of it. Then they must be whisked away to tour the stables and Dimitri talks blandly about new horses and makes polite assurances that Felix will be permitted to ride with the royal party at hunts during the summer.

Felix barely survives the evening’s dinner, nearly falling out of his seat, he is so full of pent-up energy. Dimitri sits beside him, eating mechanically, murmuring rehearsed replies to questions from other noblemen recently returned to court.

When the men finally, finally retire for drinking in the high hall, Felix manages to sneak Dimitri away from the servants and into the palace library. Dedue follows them like a shadow and Felix glares significantly at him until Dimitri finally understands.

“Dedue, would you allow us to speak in private for a moment?” Dimitri asks.

“Of course, your highness,” Dedue murmurs as he closes the door behind him. Felix is certain he will be waiting in the hall, listening intently.

But Felix cannot wait any longer and he nearly pounces on Dimitri. In the half-year they have spent apart, Felix finds that his kisses have grown harder, less curious, more insistent. 

Felix opens his mouth this time and lets his tongue probe into Dimitri’s mouth. Heat floods through him and when they break apart for air, Felix feels that his lips are wet and swollen.

“How was that?” Felix asks, unable to stop himself from grinning at the corner of his mouth.

Dimitri looks at him with empty eyes and Felix realizes a problem. Constant practice has made it difficult for him to drop his mask, although it crumbles gradually as Felix watches.

“I have missed you, Felix,” Dimitri says quietly. “It is lonely here without you. Dedue is a good companion, but he is… very formal with me.”

“Then I won’t be very formal at all,” Felix whispers and pulls him into another long kiss. He likes feeling Dimitri’s walls break down for him, likes knowing that it is only him who can take apart the persona and see the real Dimitri sheltering beneath.

“Goddess,” Dimitri breaths against him as they separate. “I’m glad you’re back.”

“I would never leave if I had a choice,” Felix replies, something in his throat feeling suddenly tight. “Are you well?” 

Dimitri nods and then winces before he shrugs instead.

“I don’t sleep well,” he admits, “I get headaches. Sometimes I-- I have bad memories. But it is easier now that I have more purpose to move forward. I need to fix things in the Kingdom, Felix.”

“Forward, then,” Felix says.

This is good, he thinks. Felix has already learned not to dwell on the past. Crying does him no good anymore, there is only his anger that drives him to grow stronger. If Dimitri has learned the same lesson, then he might heal his own sadness eventually.

Dimitri’s mouth is familiar and yet he is always different.

During those summer months while the court is in session, Felix and Dimitri train together with Sylvain and Ingrid. It is almost like old times, but Felix finds Ingrid somewhat unbearable to be around.

Ingrid was too young to have been in love, after all. She has swallowed all the lies that choke Felix and holds Glenn up as a paragon of knightly virtue. It makes even Dimitri uncomfortable when she talks about him, and Sylvain usually intervenes by causing some scandal that Ingrid rushes off to fix.

Dimitri doesn’t like to talk about the Tragedy, but that is the spring when Felix finally manages to pry out some of the details concerning Glenn’s death. No wonder Ingrid’s words upset him. Felix almost wishes he didn’t know either.

It is still difficult to catch Dimitri alone. They meet sporadically and desperately when they can. Dedue begins to annoy Felix with his constant presence. He cannot say a word against him or Dimitri will get upset, but Felix wishes Dedue would find some other interest outside of following them around.

His father also poses a problem. Rodrigue begins to take Dimitri out riding or on trips into the city, as though he seeks a replacement for a lost son in the prince.

This drives Felix to distraction, but Dimitri stubbornly refuses to decline Rodrigue’s invitations. When Felix dares to insult the old man, Dimitri admonishes him, and eventually they have to drop the subject or they both grow too angry.

Their time together is already limited, precious, and Felix grows savagely defensive of it.

There is something else new. Felix often wakes up in his bedchamber from dreams that leave him with a tightly coiled heat between his legs and an unbearable urge to release the pressure. Sylvain eventually takes pity on him and explains the things he would never dare to ask his father in a hundred years.

Felix never mentions that he usually wakes like this from dreams of Dimitri’s hands on him, rubbing him, pushing his legs apart. Not that such a thing has ever happened, not with the way they are always watched. Let Sylvain assume what he will, but Felix never speaks a word about it.

One morning the servants and nobles assemble for a hunt and Felix prepares to ride out with them, dreading an entire day of his father’s company and Rufus’ crude comments about women, always delivered in a tone of conspiratorial comradery to the male heirs.

If he only knew, Felix sometimes thought with bitter pride, what I have been doing with his own male heir.

But when the morning of the hunt arrives and Felix prepares to mount his saddled horse, Dimitri suddenly hisses with pain and presses a hand to his head.

“I must apologize, uncle,” he says with mortified formality. “One of my headaches has come upon me suddenly and do not think I can stay in the saddle all day.”

“Very well, very well,” Rufus sighs with barely concealed disgust. “Have your vassal escort you back to bed while we enjoy this glorious sunshine.”

“Sir, I ask permission that young Lord Fraldarius accompany me, if he is willing,” Dimitri asks, so deferential that Felix nearly chokes on a laugh. “I would like a companion to read to me, if you permit it, while I recover.”

“I am willing,” Felix immediately adds, hoping his eagerness to avoid the hunt does not prompt suspicion. He sees none in his father’s sad expression. Rodrigue Fraldarius would not think it unusual for his son to jump at the chance to keep away from him.

“Go on then,” Rufus agrees, impatient to begin the hunt, “we must send for the healers again next week if this goes on. I can’t have the people saying I am keeping you locked up and without exercise.”

Felix has to pretend to sneeze this time to conceal his laughter. No one who had laid eyes on Dimitri’s leanly muscled body or seen him snap a training spear in half could accuse him of lacking for exercise.

When the guards have escorted them back to the palace, Dedue prepares some sort of medicinal tea for Dimitri to drink.

“Shall I draw the curtains?” Dedue asks.

“Yes, thank you,” Dimitri replies. “And allow the servants the afternoon off. I will be resting until dinner.”

“Take the afternoon off yourself, too,” Felix adds as Dedue shuts the curtains and makes for the door. He holds up a book in his hand, some randomly chosen romance about Kyphon from Dimitri’s shelf. “I won’t need any other assistance.”

As soon as the door is locked, Dimitri sits up in bed.

“Please tell me you don’t actually have a headache,” Felix says, unable to keep a note of triumph from his voice.

“I don’t,” Dimitri confirms, a rare smile of mischief on his face.

It is different each time. Lying side-by-side in bed with Dimitri wearing only his shirt and smallclothes is different than a few minutes of silent kissing in a dark library.

Felix feels, to his horror, the same tight heat building between his legs. He tries to arch his hips back and keep the problem from Dimitri’s notice, but a chance brush of his hand beneath the covers reveals that Dimitri is in a similar situation.

After only fifteen minutes, they are both sweating and red-faced and trembling. They have to stop after a gasp escapes Dimitri’s lips loud enough that someone in the hall might have heard it. Still, they lie next to each other, hands clasped even as they are trying to calm the storm of desire inside of them.

“Is it wrong that I feel so happy right now?” Dimitri asks breathlessly after a few minutes of silence.

“Why would it be wrong?”

“Because of the Tragedy,” Dimitri whispers. “Because I’m still alive.”

“Don’t say that,” Felix suddenly snaps. “I want you alive. It’s not some… trade.”

“I’m alive, but so are the people who killed my parents and Glenn and so many others,” Dimitri sighs, the heavy weight of grief seeming to settle back over him.

“I thought Duscur was purged,” Felix replies. “And that youth from the western territories was punished by the church. What more can be done?”

“I don’t believe anymore that the people responsible were from Duscur,” Dimitri says. “Nor the son of Lord Lonato.”

He rolls over and his face is serious, intent, focused like he hasn’t been in weeks. Felix has no choice but to believe him with an expression like that. Dimitri has never exaggerated the danger of his position in Fhirdiad or the stakes of his decisions before.

And if that is true, Felix thinks, what do I do? How can you leave the past behind and move forward until justice has been done?

“I want to help,” Felix says finally. He speaks slowly, somberly, trying to impress upon Dimitri how serious he is when he can never find the right words. “I want to stay by your side and help you fix things. I will be your shield, if you let me.” 

Dimitri presses their foreheads together.

“It scares me sometimes. When you talk like that.”

“Why?”

“It scares me to love something that might go away.”

The implications of the logic are clear. Felix feels like lightning is bursting inside of him. Dimitri loves him. A giddy smile is forming on his lips

“Let’s just be happy for a while, then,” Felix says. “We have hours where it’s just us and no more pretending.”

In the end, they do actually read some books to each other. They play a board game until it grows too dull and competitive. They get bored and try to arm wrestle, which Dimitri obviously wins, but the physicality of struggling against each other nearly gets them into trouble again. Dimitri, for all his artifice in court, is terrible at keeping quiet.

When the hunting party returns, Felix is woken with a start in Dimitri’s bed by Dedue’s quiet knock. Somehow their fun had turned into curling up together, Dimitri’s fingers tangling in Felix’s hair while Felix massaged his hand’s over Dimitri’s skin, until they had fallen asleep.

Felix leaps out of the bed and ties his hair back with the frantic energy of a startled cat, adjusting his rumpled clothing before finally answering the door.

“He’s sleeping,” Felix whispers as he slides out into the hall. Dedue nods silently. Despite Felix’s misgivings, Dedue at least knows that Dimitri’s sleep is a rare and significant thing that must never be interrupted.

Dimitri wakes it time to join them for dinner and his mask is back up. The fake-courtly-Dimitri is very pleasant in a bland sort of way. Felix shoots a secret smile at him across the table. The mask does not return the smile, but Felix can sense the real Dimitri behind its eyes grinning back at him.

He is fifteen when the western territories revolt.

His father finally explains the situation while they pass the lonely and dreadful winter in Fraldarius territory. At fifteen, Felix is now old enough to fight, and thus, he is old enough for his father to confide in him why there is a rebellion.

“The regent has mismanaged the state entrusted to him,” Rodrigue sighs as he offers Felix watered-down wine heated over the fire, a clearly calculated effort to show Felix he is a man now. “I have tried my best to exert a beneficial influence over him, but Rufus lacks the courage to command his lords. He is conciliatory when he ought to be firm and unyielding when he ought to be gentle.”

“What do these rebels want?” Felix asks. He does not enjoy spending time with his father like this, but he needs information.

“Even in King Lambert’s time, the western lords sought preferential treatment. Many of them have strong ties to the Empire and they use that to threaten the crown. King Lambert knew how to manage their tempers, but Rufus has provoked them.”

He knew how to manage their tempers, Felix noted, and yet he was murdered on a roadside in Duscur.

“The rebellion is being led by a coalition of minor noble families from House Meteus and House Gideon. They demand the head of the Lord Regent in the name of defending the young prince from corruption,” Rodrigue said with a dark expression. “It is a ploy, of course. They are chafing under royal taxation on the ports of the Rhodos Coast and want to set up one of their own as Lord Regent so that they are no longer forced to send grain to the royal stores when the harvests fail in Galatea lands.”

“Why do we fight then?” Felix challenges. “If Rufus truly is a bad regent.”

“We fight because Rufus is _only_ a regent,” Rodrigue says firmly. “We must hold the Kingdom for Dimitri until he is ready to take the throne. I cannot stop it from waning, but I will not let it be fractured and destroyed. He is your dearest friend, I know. He has asked for you serve as his squire.”

“He’s fighting?”

“Children of Faerghus are bred for war. He is more than ready. And it will help his cause if he is seen on the field, battling those who claim to fight for his right. It is his duty to defend his subjects.”

Felix grits his teeth. All this savagery and greed papered over with a veneer of noble duty and knightly virtue.

“I’ll fight beside him,” Felix says. Rodrigue’s expression softens and he reaches out to try to touch Felix’s shoulder.

“I am very proud of you, Felix,” his father says. “I know your brother would be, as well.”

“Don’t,” is all Felix can say before he stalks out of the hall and back up to his chambers.

The winter is bitter cold and ice coats the ground, making open war impossible before spring. Felix paces and seethes around the manor, trapped with only his father and the occasional letter. Sylvain writes to him, mostly irrelevant gossip, and Ingrid writes occasionally, although her notes are so formulaic, he can get no real meaning from them.

He saves his letters from Dimitri in a box beneath his bed and he takes them out during the weeks when the snow falls so thick no messengers can ride and presses them to his lips instead.

When it finally thaws, he rides alongside a battalion of Fraldarius soldiers to Fhirdiad and then out to an encampment at the western edge of the Tailtean Plains. The rebels have taken shelter in a fortification along the river at the edge of Mateus territory. Reinforcements are expected from the south and the regent’s army intends to cut them off before they reach their allies.

They arrive in the evening, as the sun is setting and bathing the plains in red-gold light. Felix is sore from the long ride and his legs tremble as he swings down from his saddle and hands his horse off to an attendant. The encampment is crowded, tents spread out around the ruins of an ancient fort from the War of Heroes.

Then Felix hears the beat of hooves and Dimitri rides up to the stables beside them. He looks incredible. Long legs and a broad chest, his golden hair shining and his face glowing with exertion as he slows his horse. His features are all handsome, striking, and he is the picture of health and high spirits.

But there is also something chilling about him. For a moment, even Felix cannot tell that this is the mask.

“Rodrigue!” Dimitri calls out as Felix’s father clasps his hand and beams a him. Dimitri’s manner is so easy now, so confidant and comfortable as he greets soldiers and servants alike with warmth.

Felix feels like a grimy shadow in his presence, but he pushes that thought away and goes to lean slightly against the side of Dimtri’s leg.

“Dimitri,” he says, “you’ve gotten taller. Or is that just the horse?”

Dimitri looks down and a genial smile breaks across his face.

Fake, Felix thinks and panics, fake.

“Felix, my friend,” he laughs, “I apologize. I did not realize I had to wait for you to catch up.”

Dimitri dismounts in a single, practiced motion and Felix sees admiration on the faces of the guards surrounding him. So, he has done it, Felix thinks with unease. He has convinced them and won them to his side.

But then Dimitri wraps him into a tight hug and Felix forgets to be uneasy. 

“Come, come,” Dimitri urges them, “my uncle is awaiting you both. And of course, I must teach my squire how to tend my horse and armor before we ride to battle.”

Soldiers laugh around them as Felix grins despite himself. Dimitri’s good humor is as infectious to him as his despair once was.

The royal family is staying at the ruined fort under heavy guard. Rufus has been paranoid ever since Duscur and soldiers line the walls. They eat in a tent set up in the courtyard, it’s interior as luxurious as any banquet hall. Dimitri manages to finish his plate, complementing each dish as filling while politely circumventing its taste.

Dedue is there, as silent and glowering as always. Felix wonders if he is the jealous one now, jealous that his lineage prevents him from joining Dimitri on the battlefield.

“Do you anticipate your first battle, your highness?” Rodrigue asks.

“I am eager to prove myself, but I regret the circumstances greatly,” Dimitri replies with perfect composure. A few nods go around the tent.

“I thought knights enjoyed bloodshed,” Felix cuts in before he can stop himself. The table hushes.

Then Dimitri breaks the tension with a laugh.

“My old friend is known for a tongue as sharp as his sword,” he explains. “But you honor me with your council, Felix. No ruler ought to enjoy a war with his own people.”

Felix glances to his father and sees relief on his face as Dimitri smooths over the feathers Felix has ruffled.

“Your squire must remember he sits with men now,” Rufus growls. He looks pale and faded, as though Dimitri’s glowing youth has sucked the life from him. “Not with boys who can make such ridiculous comments. We fight our own people yes, but perhaps Lord Fraldarius ought to take his son through the burnt ruins of all the villages these rebels have destroyed.”

Something flickers under Dimitri’s composed smile. There he is, Felix thinks. He’s still in there, however deeply Dimitri has had to bury his own heart.

“I meant no offense, Lord Regent,” Felix remarks. “Only that I fear being Lord Dimitri’s squire.”

The table is silent and his father is looking at him with something near horror.

“He will leave no glory for me,” Felix shakes his head. “I am supposed to become Shield of Faerghus and yet he has grown so tall no man will strike him from his horse so that I may rescue him.”

At that, the table bursts into laughter. A few of the lords clap Felix on the back for his comment and he overhears his father remark that Felix takes more after his brother with each day.

Dimitri does not laugh. He watches Felix across the table with his expression neutral and his eyes burning.

That night, no one says a word when Felix goes to sleep in Dimitri’s quarters. He is supposed to armor him in the morning and it is no unusual thing for squires to remain by their lords out on campaign.

There are distant storms that shed no rain, but lightning flickers on the horizon and occasional bursts of thunder rumble across the plains. If the rains come, then the horses will sink into the mud and the battle may be lost. Everyone is tense and waiting.

“How do you actually feel about it?” Felix asks, leaning against one of the ancient stone walls while Dimitri carefully lays out his armor and sword for the next morning.

“About what?”

“Fighting in the battle tomorrow,” Felix asks. “Even I can’t tell what you’re thinking anymore.”

Dimitri’s expression softens. He stands and tips Felix’s head back, stealing a brief kiss.

“I am thinking that you’re not as short as you keep complaining,” Dimitri whispers. “And I’m thinking about your hair and your eyes like dark gold, always fixed on me and no one else.”

“You’re avoiding the question. Remember, I’m sharper than these old politicians.”

“Alright, I surrender! I have no secrets to keep from you, Felix. Honestly, I am dreading it.”

Felix expected that answer, but it is strange to hear Dimitri admit it when his other mannerisms are so clearly that of the mask. 

“Why?” Felix asks.

“Because I am sick of death and dying,” Dimitri says. “But… Felix, if you had seen the destruction these people have caused in their revolt… I am not convinced that my uncle is wrong to undertake a war to end this. Sometimes blood is the only payment for blood.”

“Could you knock it off with that?” Felix is irritated with the mask now. Thunder rumbles through the dark fort. “You know I hate it when you hide things from me.”

“I’m not--“Dimitri begins to protest, but then cuts himself off. “I suppose… that would be another lie. I am sorry, Felix.”

“Don’t apologize,” Felix grumbles. He checks the door, a mere thick curtain tied with only rope, and then pushes Dimitri down onto the pile of furs and blankets they will sleep in tonight to keep back the chill of early spring in Faerghus. “I know a more entertaining way to get you to be honest with me.”

It has been a long time since Felix has gotten to touch him, although he has lain awake in discomfort many nights imagining it. Their kisses are more practiced now, not just the sloppy panting things of a year ago. Felix roughly peels their clothing away, hands reaching to feel the hard lines of muscle in Dimitri’s thighs and the shifting ridges of his back.

He likes the way Dimitri is so strong, yet seems to melt beneath his hands. He likes the faces Dimitri makes, his eyes squeezed shut and his mouth open as Felix draws back from kissing and nipping at his neck. He likes how together they are gentle, but with just a hint of competition. He likes the way Dimitri’s hands dig into the bones of his hips as he climbs into Dimitri’s lap and moves against him.

Dimitri stifles a gasp at the sudden friction and Felix stops his mouth with kisses to keep him quiet. Felix moves his hips harder and faster, chasing the delightful need between his own legs. Sweat begins to trickle down his back despite the freezing air around them.

Then suddenly, he grinds his body forward and Dimitri’s hips jut up, his back arching and his fists clenching in the blankets as a strangled cry escapes his mouth. The space between them is suddenly warmer, damper, and oh Goddess. Felix rolls over to the side as Dimitri shivers.

“Your highness!” Dedue’s voice comes abruptly through the curtain door. “Are you alright?”

Felix scrambles away and back to his own blankets before Dedue has the time to enter, yanking the furs over his lap where he remains painfully hard. A sliver of torchlight illuminates the dark chamber as Dedue checks inside.

“Y-yes,” Dimitri manages to say, his chest still heaving. “Nightmare. Felix can handle it.”

“I will inform the guards,” Dedue says and his tone is a slight warning. “Several were concerned when they heard your cry.” Felix suspects Dedue of knowing more than he says, but at least his loyalty to Dimitri seems to neutralize any immediate threat.

When the door is closed again, Felix cannot help but laugh a slightly hysterical silent laugh. He crawls back to Dimitri’s side where he is still on his back, breathing heavily. Felix has just brought the prince of Faerghus to completion with only his clothed legs.

“You have got to learn to keep quiet, Dimitri,” Felix chuckles in a whisper, reaching down to inspect the mess they have made. Dimitri snatches his hand away.

“Stop it,” he hisses. “Stop it.”

Only then does Felix realize he is upset.

“What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong? We were almost caught! You know what could happen to us if someone found out! To both of us, Felix!”

“We might lose our inheritance. I wouldn’t mind, personally, but I know you would so…” Felix trails off when he sees Dimitri’s panicked expression. “it’s fine, Dimitri. It was only Dedue.”

“What about next time? And next time?” Dimitri asks and he rolls away from Felix’s touch and covers his eyes with one arm. His breathing is getting quicker and quicker. “I can’t live like this, I can’t, I just…”

“It’s okay,” Felix insists, now afraid as well. “I won’t do that again, I promise. We’ll be more careful.”

“We won’t, Felix,” Dimitri says and his voice goes from furious to miserable in seconds as the adrenaline begins to fade. “You always make me… I can’t control myself when you’re around.”

“I know,” Felix says, unable not to feel a little proud of that. “But--“

“You _want_ me to be in control, I can promise that,” Dimitri says sharply before he can continue.

“I don’t understand.”

For a moment, Felix is terrified that Dimitri is going to tell him to leave. Maybe for the night or maybe forever.

“I am not… right anymore,” Dimitri says after a long pause and his voice is very small and rough. “You have already guessed at that, I am sure. But ever since the Tragedy, there is something wrong with me.”

“I know,” Felix nods. “I don’t care.”

“You should care,” Dimitri urges him. “You don’t know enough to know that you _should_ care.”

“I don’t care because I love you,” Felix whispers, unable to look at Dimitri when he says it. “I love the real you, the one under the mask. You don’t have to hide anything from me. You don’t have to control yourself for me. Maybe for the rest of the world, but not me.”

“You say that now. But one day, you’ll see the truth about me and you’ll wish you’d never spoken those words.”

“Stop it!” Felix struggles to keep his voice a whisper. “I won’t! I made you a promise, Dimitri. I will not leave your side. I won’t stop loving you, I swear it. I swear it.”

Dimitri’s composure fractures and Felix catches a glimpse of him deep beneath this cruel iteration of his mask. It is difficult to tell what he is thinking.

“Promise it again,” Dimitri finally says. “I’m so tired, Felix. Promise you won’t go if I… if I do anything wrong.”

“I promise you that I won’t,” Felix swears. “I swear it on… on my sword. I will not leave you, Dimitri, even if you do something wrong. I want the real you. I want the truth.”

Oaths are serious things in Faerghus. Felix has no intention to break this one. But intentions are not everything.

Dimitri looks up at him and there is a hungry, desperate look on his face. Then his mouth crumples and tears begin to run down his cheeks. Felix brushes them away.

There he is, Felix thinks, the real version of his friend beneath all this.

He is so very wrong. He is so very wrong.

When morning comes, he dresses Dimitri for battle and sheepishly cleans up the evidence of the last night’s mistake. He buckles on armor, checks it, ensures it will not break. He prepares Dimitri’s lance, side sword, and dagger, and brings more in case any of them should break in Dimitri’s powerful grip. He brings Dimitri’s horse from the stables. Rain never fell that night and the ground is hard and dry.

They await the enemy on a ridge. The knights fight on horseback while squires like Felix follow them, defend them should they fall, provide new weapons should their swords break, carry their banners so that their men can rally around them.

Dimitri is surrounded by the royal guard, some of the most skilled and experienced knights in Faerghus. He will be fine, Felix tells himself. He is well-protected and plenty skilled for battle.

As they wait on the ridge, Felix puts a hand on the neck of Dimitri’s patient horse and looks up at him. He looks unwell. He did not sleep much the night before. Felix spots that his hands are shaking where he holds the reigns and he keeps closing his eyes and shaking his head, as though some invisible fly is bothering him.

He is frightened, Felix realizes. He is too afraid to fight and the men of Faerghus are about to see their golden prince tremble before battle like a coward. They will condemn him for it, Felix thinks with fury, when it is not his fault

Felix has seen soldiers with battle shock before and none of them had been forced to face the violent deaths of their family at such a tender age. Why should they condemn their king for his gentle heart? They should beg the Goddess for a king with a gentle heart.

“It’s going to be fine,” Felix reassures him softly and Dimitri jumps at his voice. “I’m going to protect you.”

“Promise you won’t leave,” Dimitri says and his voice trembles.

“I swear it,” Felix tells him fervently. “No matter what.”

Dimitri nods and looks forward. The other army is approaching, forming lines as their scouts spot the knights up on the ridge. Horns blow from a distance. Dimitri’s horse snorts and paws at the ground. This is not its first battle, as it is theirs.

Lances are raising into the air, gleaming in the dawn’s light.

“We will strike down this revolt!” Dimirti calls out, his voice strong and unwavering. “Men of Faerghus, fulfill your oaths! Ride with me!”

And he spurs his horse forward. The cavalry charges down the ridge and Felix sprints after them, a battalion of men surging around him. The horses ahead of them shatter the enemy ranks easily and suddenly the world around him turns to chaos.

Felix has trained for this. He is not afraid for his life and he understands the need to kill those who would harm him. All children of Faerghus are trained for battle. When he plunges his sword through a wall of shields and it comes back red, he does not dwell on it. To fight is necessary. To wallow in grief for the dead is pointless.

He sees Dimitri ahead of him, the spear in his hand dripping with blood, but he is still fighting.

Thank the Goddess, Felix thinks, he is still fighting. He is holding himself together.

Then Felix catches a glimpse of Dimitri’s face.

He is smiling.

A man with an axe rushes to try to drag him from his horse, and the blow from Dimitri’s sword is so powerful it cleaves his helmet and splatters the ground with his brains as he slumps to the dirt. Dimitri laughs wildly and then looks disdainfully at the chip he’s just taken out of the edge of his own sword.

“Felix!” he calls out, voice as merry as if they were feasting in a hall. “Another sword!”

Felix is frozen.

“Another sword, Felix!” Dimitri insists, frustration and eagerness in his words. He wants to kill more. He is _relishing_ this.

Felix stares up at him and numbly hold up a blade. Dimitri snatches it from his hands, teeth bared somewhere between snarl and smile as he turns to face the next onslaught.

“Your highness,” one of the other mounted knights is calling. “That is the Earl of Gideon’s younger brother!”

Felix follows where he is pointing to a battalion of enemy cavalry.

“Then I shall meet him,” Dimitri calls out, “and prove to him in person that I need no other regent.” 

The cavalry clash is brutal. Felix cuts down a man from his horse before he can raise the mace in his hand to crush their infantry. He watches Dimitri throw the Earl of Gideon’s younger brother to the ground as he kills the horse beneath him with the faint musical hum of his Crest ringing through the air.

The knight’s squire rushes to defend his lord. He is a boy about their own age. Dimitri impales him through the chest and then shakes the body off of his lance with a look of delight.

“Take this traitor to my uncle,” Dimitri commands one of his knights as he holds the captured commander at the point of his spear. “And we shall show the rest of these disgusting murderers what happens to those who prey on the weak.”

His tone is savage, but men cheer for him. Men are cheering and they do not understand, because every tale of knights and battles they have ever read have told them, this is good, this is what virtue looks like. And only Felix can see that this… creature is terrifying.

Dimitri fights until the sun is burning overhead, long past the point when other knights have withdrawn from exhaustion. He will be hailed for his stamina.

Felix watches him, feeling like he’s dreaming, fighting mechanically because his instincts will keep him alive. Dimitri fights because he cannot stop, because his thirst for blood is not yet quenched, because he does not care if he dies in the process of killing.

Eventually, his horse falls, from its wounds or from exhaustion, Felix will never know. Dimitri fights on foot until he can no longer grip his spear for all the blood that has spilled over him.

Only then does Felix manage to pull him back. He is laughing weakly. His face is spattered with blood and his long golden hair is matted with it.

When Felix wrestles him past the front line and they sink to their knees amid the piles of bodies spread across the plains, Dimitri finally looks him in the eye.

The expression is horribly, horribly familiar. That burning gaze. This is him. This is the real Dimitri, the one Felix has glimpsed beneath the mask.

The one Felix thought he could love.

He was wrong.

They win the battle, easily. The enemy was unprepared for their attack, outnumbered and poorly supplied. Their commanders have been captured and the garrison of rebels remaining in Mateus territory will surely surrender.

Felix is required to disarm Dimitri as his squire. He can barely unbuckle the blood-soaked armor with his shaking hands. He cannot even look at Dimitri as the men around them read the prince’s gleeful smile as pride in their victory instead of… madness.

He is required to clean the armor. It takes hours to remove the blood.

By the time he is finished, night has fallen. They have returned to the camp and there is a victory feast at the old fortification. Men are drinking. The camp is lively.

Felix goes to sit behind the stable and wretch the contents of his stomach out against the wall.

“Why are you not at the feast?”

Dimitri’s voice startles him as he wipes his mouth and drinks from his canteen to clear the taste of bile. He turns around to face him, to face that… thing.

The creature he once called Dimitri has been cleaned, washed of the gore from his gruesome work. His flaxen hair falls about his shoulders and there is a look of concern on his face.

“Who are you?” Felix asks. The creature’s brow creases.

“What do you mean?” it says.

“You’re not Dimitri,” Felix manages to say. “You’re the mask.”

“I’m sorry,” it speaks in a parody of humility. “I am doing it again, aren’t I, Felix? I can never hide myself from you.”

The beast steps forward and tries to touch Felix’s face. Felix staggers back away from it.

“Don’t touch me,” Felix snarls. The creature’s face is still confused.

“Why are you acting like this?”

“Why am I? Why am I?” Felix hears his voice growing high and hysterical. “I saw you out there. I saw you. You enjoyed killing those men, you loved watching their fear, you craved it.”

“I did not! I would never--“

“Don’t lie to me!”

The creature’s face falls and it puts its head into its hands. Felix hears a low moan of agony escape its mouth.

“I enjoyed it,” the creature confesses. “I did, but I also didn’t. I can’t explain it, please, I don’t know what happened. They asked me for it, please, Felix, it made them so happy, I had to, I had to…”

“I was so blind and so stupid,” Felix whispers. “I thought you were… I thought my friend was still alive in there. But Dimitri is dead. He has been dead for years. You are wearing his corpse.”

“Don’t say that, don’t say that,” the creature begs pathetically. “Not you, please, not you, Felix.”

“Stop it, stop crying,” Felix growls. “It’s fake, it was always fake.”

“You swore,” the creature sobs, leaning against the wall when it can no longer stand. “You swore.”

“I swore to Dimitri, not you,” Felix spits, drawing closer as he says it. “You are a monster. An animal. A wild boar, obsessed with killing.”

The Boar looks up and Felix sees him unmasked again. His enemy. The savage anger in his eyes is enough to make Felix’s breath catch. The Boar’s hands shove him back, strength beyond what a man of his size should be capable of sends him flying.

Felix hits the wall of the stable hard enough to knock the breath from his lungs and make stars burst behind his eyes. For a moment he is stunned, and then when his vision returns, he sees the Boar is kneeling in front of him, face pale with fear and shame.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” it begs. 

Felix can feel something hot and wet spilling down his cheeks, which is impossible because he does not cry anymore.

So he grabs the Boar by the collar and punches him in the face as hard as he can.

“Do not…” he pants as he scrambles away, “…speak to me… again.”

And that is it.

The Boar has a split lip the next day everyone chalks up to the battle. Felix returns to Fraldarius territory.

Letters come from Fhridiad for a while. Felix accepts them without comment, thanks the messengers, goes to his room, and tosses them into the fire.

He is sixteen when the letters stop coming.

He is seventeen when he goes to Garreg Mach.

He steels himself. He’s caught glimpses of the Boar at court when his presence is required. His defenses are stronger now. Sylvain has not mentioned anything odd about the prince, which means the Boar is restrained well enough.

The Boar’s hair is cut short at Garreg Mach. That is all he allows himself to notice.

For the most part, it is easy to ignore him. Felix has his training to focus on, after all. The mask the Boar is wearing now is so skillful, almost undetectable, so polite and decorous he never dares to even approach Felix. Even in combat, Felix notices, he holds himself back

Felix hates him. But occasionally, they spar together.

It is a challenge and Felix enjoys a challenge. It is like drinking a mouthful of poison and holding it on his tongue, determined not to swallow.

The Boar charms students and faculty alike and Felix hates him.

But when the new professor takes over their class, Felix cannot help it. Words spill unbidden from his lips and no matter how angry they are, he cannot deny that they are always about one thing.

_The Boar, professor. Watch him. Be careful of him. He is not who he seems to be._

The professor is silent and watchful. Felix knows, his face reddening with shame and revulsion, that the professor can understand the meaning behind his words.

_The Boar is dangerous. Help him. Help him. Save him, someone, please._

But no one listens. No one intervenes and Felix stands still and silent, watching the Boar slowly make his way to the surface again.

In Remire Village, Felix catches a glimpse. There you are, he thinks with grim satisfaction, my enemy.

But the mask has grown powerful and the Boar is held back again. It is sickening to watch this creature puppet the corpse of his friend. Felix averts his eyes.

He trains. He catches Annette singing a song in the greenhouse and remembers that he can smile. He improves his swordsmanship and feels real pride in it. He is getting stronger.

But he cannot stop the words seeping out of him, to anyone who will listen, now.

_The Boar. The Boar is dangerous. Watch him. See what I can see in him._

Dedue will not hear him because Dedue is a hound, loyal even to a monster. Sylvain laughs it off, tells him he’s gotten even meaner since they were kids. Ingrid brings up Glenn and he says things to her that even he is ashamed of later.

It is almost a relief when the Boar finally snaps. The laughter that breaks free from him deep in the holy tomb is familiar, but real. Finally. Someone else can see it.

Felix is probably the only person alive who begins the war feeling like a weight has been lifted from his chest.

He is twenty-three when his father dies.

Felix has been fighting for five years. His skin is thicker. He barely reacted when Sylvain brought the news to him that Prince Dimitri had been executed in Fhirdiad for the murder of his uncle. He could not believe it.

And he had been right to doubt.

It does not bother him to see the Boar anymore and the Boar no longer bothers to hide. He has lost an eye and it makes people afraid of him. He stands in the church, muttering to himself for hours a day. In combat, he does not bother to conceal his bloodlust.

Felix does not care. It is useful. It is a war.

He watches the Boar sometimes, standing at a distance in the cathedral. He tries to hear what he is saying when he mumbles to himself.

“Why do you bother to whisper?” Felix asks one say. “You know you can never hide anything from me.”

The Boar gives him a look of such deep loathing and hatred that Felix is genuinely frightened. He leaves the monster alone after that.

And then his father dies.

His father dies and things are different. The Boar is restrained again, but the mask is… not the mask anymore. There is a stranger instead.

Another artifice, Felix thinks darkly. He knows he cannot pretend to be their perfect leader anymore so he plays the part of the penitent. He is like a dog, rolling over to show its belly and whimpering to avoid retribution.

But he behaves… differently. He loses control, and then he steps back. He struggles. He controls his passions and tries again. When he has the opportunity to call for the Emperor’s slaughter, he meets with her instead and tries to negotiate.

“Which is your true face?” Felix finally asks.

“They are both the real me.”

The answer leaves him shaken. Felix picks a fight instead.

“I’m not immune to emotion, you know,” he finds himself saying. The stranger smiles softly, but his eyes are sad.

“You know, Felix, you really are growing more and more like your brother. Always so sarcastic, and constantly looking for a fight. But deep inside, more than anyone, you–“

Felix cuts him off there.

They are standing in the ruins of the monastery. Soon the war will be over. Felix looks at Dimitri and feels the awful ache of something they both destroyed long ago. It hurts like lancing a wound, like cleaning an infection nine years in the making.

For a moment, Felix wonders if there is anything to salvage. It is a thought he has not dared to have in a long time.

That night, he visits his father’s grave for the first time. He rests his head against the cold stone and a few painful gasps escape his mouth.

“Thank you,” he manages to say to the dead man. “Thank you.” 

He is twenty-four when the war is over and they crown a new king in Fhirdiad.

Felix considers leaving after that. He could live by his sword. He could leave the Kingdom behind, leave Fraldarius territory to some cousin, like he always intended.

He doesn’t leave.

There is a ball the night of the coronation. Sylvain whirls Ingrid around the dance floor and she actually laughs instead of admonishing him. Dedue stands in the corner and watches, like he is a hired guard instead of a guest, until Mercedes approaches him with food and wine. Felix notices for the first time that Dedue occasionally does take an interest in something outside of Dimitri.

Felix dances with Annette when she begs him and he is almost not embarrassed by it. Then he pushes her into Ashe’s arms and both of them stammer and fumble their way through a waltz while he watches.

When midnight passes, Felix can feel the wine making him sleepy and loosening his lips. The party is still going, but when he looks around, the king has vanished.

Felix slips out to the garden to find cold air to clear his head. Naturally, Dimitri is there. He is sitting on the edge of a fountain, holding the crown in his hands and staring down at it.

“What are you doing?

Dimitri’s breath catches as he looks up and sees him.

“Nothing really. Thinking,” he murmurs. “I am frightened, Felix. I don’t want to fail you all again.”

Felix folds his arms over his chest.

“You worry too much.”

“Surely, I have just cause for that.”

“If you fail again, I’ll be there to stop you,” Felix says and realizes belatedly that it sounds like a threat. “I mean… it is my birthright after all. The shield of Faerghus.”

Dimitri grows almost imperceptibly still.

“You intend to stay, then?” he asks.

“I made an oath, didn’t I?” Felix shrugs. He sits down on the edge of the fountain beside Dimitri. He has never been good with words, but he has no other recourse now. “I swore I would remain by your side, no matter what.”

“I thought we did not speak of those times anymore,” Dimitri says, his knuckles white where he is holding the crown in his hands.

“There are a lot of things I wish I’d said to you earlier,” Felix admits. “And… a lot of things I wish I’d never said, too.”

“Well,” Dimitri smiles faintly. “That’s all past now. You would tell me not to dwell on it.”

“I would. But…” Felix pauses. “There might be a way forward, as well. You don’t have to show me anything. You don’t owe me proof. I just… miss you, Dimitri.”

Dimitri seems to be rendered speechless by that apart from a few wet sniffs Felix will pretend he doesn’t hear. Instead, he leans his shoulder slightly against Dimitri’s. Dimitri doesn’t shift away. They sit there like that for a while. It reminds him of a night long ago when they sat in a window seat and watched the stars over Fhirdiad.

You’ll understand when you’re older, Glenn had said.

Felix is twenty-four years old and he might be finally beginning to understand.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [被悲伤外衣包裹的陷阱](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26250796) by [Campinghood](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Campinghood/pseuds/Campinghood)




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